Passion
by AndIllWriteYouATragedy
Summary: It's a late night at the office, and Harry's pretty tense. Draco doesn't help when he keeps looking up at him. Unfortunately for him, Harry was far too close to the edge to not start a fight, and apparently had had his bowl of bitchflakes that morning. Featuring Harry and Draco, Auror Partners and Consulting Badasses. I hate summaries, they're determined to make me look terrible.


**This happened on a train ride. **

**********'So, without further gilding the lily and with no more ado, I give to you,' the story!**

* * *

There's something about passion that is irresistible to Draco. The fiery intensity of the whole thing attracts him like a moth to flame. Unfortunately, also like a moth to flame, it's a dangerous attraction. His thirst for passion is a constant thorn in his side, but it is being particularly irritating today.

What probably pisses Draco off most about Harry Potter is that he can imagine being in an actual _relationship _with the asshole. Harry is probably the only one who actually, to some degree, understands him. Harry understands what he's been through, to a certain extent, and Draco can't resist that. The two of them are so like each other that being together is easy for Draco to imagine, but they are different enough that it could actually work out between them.

It's days like this that are the absolute worst. Stuck in their shared Auror office room way past quitting time, just to fill out form after form, was certainly _not _Draco's idea of a good night. But looking up at Harry across their desks and watching him furiously scribbling away in that messy scrawl of his is a welcome distraction. It takes a moment for Harry to feel the eyes on him and finally look up.

"What do you _want_, Malfoy? You keep looking at me, I can feel it." Harry's voice was tense; he often got worked up every time they had to work on rounding up the rogue Death Eaters. "I'm not stupid, you know. I can see you."

Draco immediately felt himself move to the defensive, spitting words back at Harry. "I don't need to look at you when I look up, Potter. Don't be such an... egomaniac."

Harry slammed his quill down, his green eyes turning from tired spheres into burning planets.

"Do you want to start this now?" Harry fired at Draco. Draco slammed his own quill down onto his desk.

"What have _I _started? You're the one who's angry here!" Draco felt his own voice rising in volume, and slightly in pitch. Both of their faces were turning red, as both of them were so stubborn and frustrated, feeling the strong need to defend themselves against the other.

"You. Keep. Looking!" Harry shouted, standing from his desk chair roughly. Draco moved as he did quickly so that both of them were soon standing. Harry had placed his palms flat on the desk, however, while Draco's arms crossed over his thin chest protectively.

"For the love of- _Just calm down! _You get so angry when we work on the Death Eaters!" Draco shot at him. Harry threw his hands up into the air.

"I think I have reason to be!" Harry argued back. "You, on the other hand, have basically no right to condemn _other _Death Eaters-"

"Excuse me." Draco interrupted, his voice dropping in volume and slipping into a calm voice, smooth like ice. "Did you just say _other _Death Eaters? Are you calling me a Death Eater?"

"Well, if the mask fits." Harry snarled. Draco slammed his hands down onto his desks, his cool voice cracking at once.

"At least I'm not the reason half of my friends died!" Draco shouted back angrily, aiming to wound now. Harry's eyes narrowed, but he didn't hesitate.

"At least I'm not the one who killed them!" Harry fought back immediately, not missing a beat. Draco's hands balled up into fists at once; Harry's fingers twitched towards his wand on his desk.

"Why do you even bother working with me and being my partner if all you do-" Draco began, his words rapid like machine gunfire, but he was quickly cut off.

"Because I love you!" Harry blurted. The room fell silent and the anger dropped from the air. It was a moment before Harry gathered himself, though Draco still had not recovered. "I mean- I trust you. You'll watch my back."

"You trust me?" Draco said incredulously, just saying the first words that came to him. "Me, a 'Death Eater'? I could kill you, obviously. It's my secret plot."

"I'm sorry I said you were a Death Eater." Harry apologized honestly, sitting back down in his desk chair, seeming as though he had given up on this fight. Draco remained standing, growing anxious; they fought often, and neither of them ever apologized for it. They just forgot about it. Harry especially never apologized. "I know you... I know that you weren't... I know."

"But I _was_, Potter! I _was _a Death Eater!" Draco shouted back at Harry. He yanked his sleeve up roughly, holding his arm up in the relatively bright candlelight of the office. The Dark Mark on his forearm is still unnaturally vivid against his pale skin. Harry flinched away instinctively upon seeing it.

"You didn't want to-" Harry began, but the look on Draco's face made him stop.

"But I did." Draco grabbed his bag off the back of his chair and slung the strap over his shoulder, seemingly having forgotten about Harry's confession and apologies in all his blind anger. He tugged his sleeve back down and made to leave the room. "I'll see you in the morning, Potter."

"Draco, wait!" Harry's use of Draco's first name, rather than his surname, is what made Draco stop." You have such selective listening, you only hear what you want to. Why didn't you-"

"I heard you." Draco's voice was much softer than it had been earlier. "I just don't want you to... just don't make that mistake." Draco adjusted the strap on his bag and took a deep breath; he was still facing the door, his back to Harry. "The Boy Who Lived with the son of Voldemort's right-hand man. Don't make me laugh. We are... we are all wrong for each other, we would fight all the damn time, and we-"

"It's passion. Draco, I can't describe it." Harry had begin stuttering slightly; Draco dropped his head down, running a hand through his white-blond hair.

"So don't." Draco said before continuing for the door. He barely had time to register the sound of Harry's chair scraping backward before a warm hand was wrapped around his cold wrist. He froze at the sudden, unfamiliar contact.

Harry used Draco's surprise to turn the blonde around, so that they were facing each other. He tore Draco's sleeve down again and held his arm up firmly next to their faces in one fluid motion.

"This does not define you." Harry said seriously before dropping Draco's wrist and jabbing his index finger into Draco's chest, right over where his heart was beating furiously inside of his rib cage. "This does."

Draco remained still, trying to decide between good judgement and passion, pride and desire. He let his bag slide off of his shoulder and onto the floor before he lifted up the arm with scrunched sleeve. He moved slowly, unsure of what was happening, what either of them wanted, and what alternate universe they had entered. He eventually made a decision and touched two fingers to the scar on Harry's forehead.

"This does not define you." Draco replied softly. He left his hand fall down away from Harry's face until his palm was resting flat against Harry's chest, right over his heart. He could feel it beating steadily. "This does."

"Thank you." Harry didn't seem to know what else to say. "I'm sorry, I'm really not very good at-"

"Then let me." Draco leaned down and pressed his lips to Harry's in one bold move. This was something he never would have done in school, never would have done in training, never would have done last week. Their kiss was tentative, short, and confused, but it held such passion and promise. When it ended, Draco dropped his hand from Harry's chest first; Harry followed suit hesitantly.

There was a long, tense moment before either of them spoke. It was like a heavy weight on their chests or a tight, thorny vice around their hearts. They stared at each other, willing the other to speak first and release them, but neither caved. Harry eventually gave in.

"Back to work? It certainly won't do itself." Harry offered a friendly smile, but stayed within close proximity. It was unfamiliar, but that seemed to be normal for the moment - well, as normal as the two of them would ever get. Their faces were two inches apart as Draco nodded curtly. The movement caused his forehead to collide with Harry's, but Draco boldly decided to leave it there, resting their foreheads together.

"Then you're doing it wrong." Draco replied simply. He broke their contact and crouched down to pick up his bag before the both of them returned to their desks, settling in for the long night ahead.


End file.
